Thursday, November 15, 2012

Are you thinking you now look
mature, mysterious, sophisticated, even alluringly primitive?

NO!You just look
scruffy, mangy, unkept, down-at-the-heel, unemployed!Guys,
look in that mirror you don’t use any more -- it ain’t pretty. First tattoos,
and now this?

Do you sorta look like George
Clooney?

NO!You look like Brett Favre – out of grace and out of a job! Maybe even like an unshaven reprobate like doctor
House! (… advanced
apologies to the really unemployed…)

Will you grow into a silvery Sean
Connery?NO!You’d need his British accent,
his blue eyes, silver tongue, and savoir faire.

Instead, you look like the destitute
hanging around the 7-11 with scruff and spikey bed hair.

Do girls want to kiss you? NO!Scratchy, scruffy, speckely, peppery.But what is women’s real anxiety? If you no longer bother to shave, well, maybe
you -- uh -- don’t bother to bath?

Women have not yet come to
grips with tattoos. But take heart, girls, at least when their rationality
returns, they can at least shave off their stubble to take back their real identity.

Why is this happening?Is it an Armageddon preoccupation? May 21st,
2011 has passed and you’re still here -- and unshaven -- but 12/21/2012
still looms out there.Will you not
shave until 12/22/2012?Women will just
have to stay around and wait…

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

by Patricia Moloney Dugas

The 2012 Draft – Opening Day: Begin with the parade of behemoths. 26 top picks are called to the stage – handsomely suited, tied, and socked, some with diamond earrings and Rolex watches. Qualifications required to participate: Six foot plus, 200 to 350 pounds, long arms, can run the 400, and can spell money. (When did long arms become an issue?) The larger draftees will become the new brain-bashing bone-crushers. The smaller ones will become their prey. But no matter – today we celebrate behemothism.

Round 1: The ESPN chatter pauses – Roger Goodell walks across the stage. Instead of cheers for this celebration, unexpectedly, loud boo’s follow him to the podium. Who are these clowns? The juveniles in the rafters they let in to give flavor to the event? Instead, they give out unfounded abuse. Go figure… As we give more power to the “fans,” more of this rude intrusion we will happen. They don’t know nice.

State of the NFL with the headmaster. Roger Goodell chats with Chris Berman:

Latest on New Orleans Saints. Saints? Really? Their illegal activities on and off the field confound the rest of the NFL. Saints? Really?

Bounty hunting, high up in the ranks – tape recording and other saintly activities. Players fully complicit in the hunting and trapping.

Demise of the Pro Bowl? No longer up to NFL standards. (More crushing?)

Rookie wage scale – no more bundles of boodle. Teams won’t mortgage the stadium to get these newbies to show up – plus they can freely trade!

On with the show. Pick #1 and #2 are predetermined. Andrew Luck and RG III – surely by now you’ve heard the plethora of press on these two – their Mom, Dad, kid sister, tailor, their hints to (save) the franchise, what they like for breakfast…

Drafting Reprobates: A prospect for top ten fell to #39 because of him off-the-field. “He is a risk!” was the commentary on Junoris Jenkins – three arrests, drugs, etc. keeps him off the wanted list. “He’s great in the building – you just gotta keep him in the building.” A sad commentary. Don’t give me childhood excuses. These guys must keep their “eyes on the prize” while they are in school. They watch the NFL and know what is required of them to join the big show.

ESPN commentary remains crisp through a dizzying first round. The adolescents in the rafters were still howling and booing everything – all the picks and Goodell. On the other hand, the selectees were lovin’ & huggin’ everything – Mom, Dad, their own kids, then saving a major hug for Roger Goodell – like he made it all happen for them.

Best commercial: The scruffy rescue dog named Wego. When they call him, “Here Wego” he runs in, opens the fridge, and fetches them a beer. So cute. No Clydesdales needed here. Just pretty people and Wego. Message: rescue dogs.Second best commercial: The Michael Jordan in-name-only guy. The middle-aged, balding and harried businessman – how choice! Hiding the champagne scene… hee hee…

When the Fall season gets under way, all this drama will fade away, so we wait for the Jets to open their season with Sanchez operating with a Tebow on his back. This will be the new drama – the New York hustle.
Will Cleveland can McCoy for 28 year old Weeden? Have the Peyton-less Colts added a suitable chorus for Luck, Andrew, that is. Will Dallas get better bodies for their new stadium? Will Peyton be able to silence Tebow mania? Will Bill Belichick’s clever selections propel him into another Superbowl? As a Bostonian, I am hoping the Pats will swallow up those fumbling, jumbling Jets. A little bias here…

So there you have it, my impressions on the start if the NFL Draft 2012. And we ain’t done yet. Stay tuned.

Palm Springs is in the desert. Yes, carved out of the sands, winds, and mountains surrounding the Coachilla desert. 73 degrees all winter with sporadic rain showers and a tad hotter in the summer – more like 105 degrees average.

Like the desert reptiles, we come out at night and hide under the rocks -- the rocks that float in our margaritas.

Colin Firth arrival for the Film Festival

The Palm Springs International Film Festival grows in prestige every year to draw in celebrities and film lovers from all over the world. I got to see Colin Firth here when he won for “The Kings Speech.” Sigh.. That's the level of celebs I'm talking about…

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There is still high Hollywood drama here in town. Memories of those once famous celebrities that lived and played here permeate the shops and restaurants. The stars on the sidewalks, the homes of Bob Hope, Elvis Presley, Dinah Shore, Liberace, and their celebrity friends are still attractions to the older folks who remember them.

——————————————

The Annual Calander

The snowbirds arrive in late Fall, wander downtown Palm Canyon Drive in shorts and golf attire, trying out all the eateries, shoppees, and Happy Hours. Everyone you meet is from somewhere else and eager to chat. The sidewalks are filled with happy tourists. I love this time of year.

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April starts the departure – snowbirds leaving to return to the north country. Oregon, Washington, back East, Canada and maybe San Fransisco.

May - is the real scatter. The heat arrives, friends already gone, eateries running out of food – and patience.

June! The streets are bare, the restaurants go on summer schedule or close for the season, the second team of chefs are all that’s left. There are no more activities being scheduled – but there are great sales in the shoppes that were filled with customers 2 months ago.

July, August, and September – This is when the remaining natives stay inside to write their memoirs, clean out closets, diet, eat salads, and wave to neighbors at the mailbox, then scoot back inside. They rekindle their Kindles & Ipads. Twitter, Text, and Facebook are the only societal means of communication - unless you meet them at midnight at Trader Joe's - buying more salad.

Yes, this is celebrity town.

Come and visit our International Film Festival, our Short Film Festival, the very International Indian Wells Tennis Championships, the Tram rising from 0 to 8500 feet, Gay Pride Week, Biker Week, Music festivals, Opera, et al.

By Patricia Moloney Dugas, Freelance Writer, Palm Springs, Calif. September 25th, 2011. Here is a live photograph I took from TV of Michael Vick being crushed by a new-age 350 pound behemoth. This is the state of the football carnage that is racking up numbers every Sunday like tin soldiers. PENALTIES: These low paid, over-poundaged, predators may be penalized, fined a few bucks, or suspended - so they get to watch the next game from the sofa with beer and pizza. They have done their job – getting fined - for crippling a critical player. The mega-paid superstar who has been injured or seriously concussed has no compensation except that his career may be in serious jeopardy. POUNDAGE: The predator in the photograph is risking his own longevity without knowing it. Case histories abound with the heart, kidney, and health failure of these overweight athletes. "With more than 300 players who weigh more than 300 pounds, the NFL doesn't need a salary cap. It needs a weight cap." Jim Caple, ESPN.com. OUT FOR THE SEASON: The Monday morning number of injuries in just three weeks of the 2011 season should set off alarm bells to owners and GM’s. BOTTOM LINE: Okay, let’s forget player survival. Let’s talk money. The star QB’s, WR’s or RB’s are the only reason we watch the game. They are drafted and signed like $uperstar$. The fans want to see Michael Vick dance around and throw touchdowns. Not watch backup QB Kafka who today, after Michael was dismissed again with another injury, came in and threw two rather hasty picks. They lost the game Vick was scheduled to win. You are paying the superstar while we watch backups. If you don’t care $$$ who gets chopped, then bring back Roller Derby. Pat Dugas, Freelance Writer, Palm Springs, Calif. Thesocietaltamperer.com http://bit.ly/nq9iio

Are you thinking you now look mature, mysterious,
sophisticated, even alluringly primitive?

NO!You just look
scruffy, mangy, unkept, down-at-the-heel, unemployed!Guys,
look in that mirror you don’t use any more -- it ain’t pretty. First tattoos,
and now this?

Do you sorta look like George
Clooney?

NO!You look like Brett
Favre – out of grace and out of a job!
Maybe even like an unshaven reprobate
like doctor House! (… advanced
apologies to the really unemployed…)

Will you grow into a silvery Sean Connery?NO!You’d need his
British accent, his blue eyes, silver tongue, and savoir faire.

Instead, you look like the destitute hanging around the
7-11 with scruff and spikey bed hair.

Do girls want to kiss you? NO!Scratchy,
scruffy, speckely, peppery.But what is
women’s real anxiety? If you no longer
bother to shave, well, maybe you -- uh -- don’t bother to bath?

Women have not yet come to grips with tattoos. But take heart, girls, at least when their rationality
returns, they can at least shave of their stubble to take back their real
identity.

Why is this happening, guys?Is it an Armageddon preoccupation? You know
May 21st, 2011 has passed and you’re still here -- unshaven -- but
12/21/2012, the Mayan doomsday, still looms out there.Will you not shave until 12/22/2012?Women will just have to stay around and
wait…

It has been a good thing to start sporting events with
the singing of the Star Spangled Banner. It is restorative to all - who stand
together, with flags and honor guards - saluting the United States of
America.

For that very reason, I bring attention to the growing abuse of
this, our National Anthem. The choice of celeb’s seems to have precipitated a
competition as to who can out-jazz the others. Some of their modernized
renditions border on the irreverent if not sacrilegious. Francis Scott Key would
never recognize these varied vibratos being bellowed through half-swallowed
microphones – often off-Key, so to speak.

The crowd is already primed for
pugilism – with libations, team spirit, and comradely. The solemnity of the
moment is lost – often interrupted by the howling of the crowd during the final
stanzas. - as much as to say, “Let’s get on with the game!”

I am not
recommending that we do away with The National Anthem, but let’s substitute “God
Bless America” for sporting events instead. There can be a ‘star’ leading the
song, but we can all join in the singing, and the idea of asking “God” to bless
all of us together seems rather nice.

Let’s leave the Anthem for solemn
occasions; the Olympics, presidential, funereal, and military state of affairs.
It was never intended for football.